


when you're the one you've always dreamed

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Aromantic Character, Aromantic by trauma, Coping with Bad Shit, Everybody Lives and Nobody is Happy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fame, Follows canon up until Entry 80... kind of, Gen, M/M, Paralysis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex takes a gun with killing intent in his hands, and Jay refuses to die. They both come out on the other side terrified and with no choice but to cling to each other.</p><p>Takes place in a universe where, somehow, Alex's movies are good and he ended up famous as a result. He fell off the radar, the events of MH took place, all the way up to Entry 80. <br/>The rest is... fairly explained throughout the story. </p><p>Based on the song, 'Special Needs', by Placebo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you're the one you've always dreamed

**Author's Note:**

> I will say I am very nervous about this story. I tried my absolute best to handle this all with the respect it deserves. I am neither in a wheelchair or aromantic (although I am disabled and my own orientation is likely shaped by trauma as well), but I researched as best as I could. I've been told it's well written. So. Here's hoping?
> 
> Content warnings for unintentionally controlling behavior, financially and potentially emotionally; cheating (sort of); brief use of the f*g and cr*ppled slur; and dealing with PTSD (the works like flashbacks + anxiety attacks, etc). There is also an aromantic character who turns out as such because of trauma, and attempts to try romance again, entirely his choice- not as a 'fix it' type thing, because, well, that's terrible. But if that's something you wouldn't like, I'd steer clear of this story.

Jay wakes underneath the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights.

Who knew that Hell would be a hospital?

Jay reaches to rub his eyes. He can't. He gives the mental command to his arm: lift, ball hand into a fist, grind it against his aching dry eyelids.

Still nothing. His fingers ignore him as well. Testing a theory, he tells his feet to wriggle, tries to bend them. Tries to do something he’s always been able to do without thinking, and yet, nothing.

"Dammit," he mutters, just before his head flops over and he’s gone again before he can think about the implications.

There, he finds no dreams, no nightmares to remind him of his mistakes. He floats away from the knowledge of his own existence, out into a black ocean. Survival bobs along in front of him, leaving him clinging to his reality by a rope drifting about in this voidish sea. If he presses his ear to the thick braids, he can just hear it-- a gaggle of voices. They blend together, becoming one long droning sound that drills into his skull, deeper and deeper. 

If Jay hangs onto the noise, concentrates with all his might, he can pick it apart into something discernible.

"...don't know how little movement he'll have. Might be bed bound."

"Then make it so he isn't. I'll pay whatever."

"Sir. It's not that. It's-- we don't know what would need to be done yet. It's still a matter of waiting."

"How long until--"

"We. Don't. Know."

Jay knows that they're talking about him. He comes back up for air and answers. He lays inside a hospital room, surrounded by machines he cannot name, nobody at his side. Wherever those voices were coming from, they’re gone now.

He never cried much while he was spending his nights and days in a car, peeking over his shoulder when the trees stood too close together.

But when he attempts to elicit a response from his limbs, and is met with nothing for the second time-- he does. The tears come, fast, hot, streaming down his face and burning the raw skin.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

\--

"I got a call back from her!"

Alex bursts into Jay's room unannounced. No telling whether he got past the lock because his enthusiasm is that powerful, or Jay forgot to flip it into place again.

"What?" Jay blinks, curled up on the sofa. He has the woolen blanket yanked out from under him, and before he can process what’s happening, he's on his feet, being swung around in a very inaccurate attempt at a waltz. "Seriously, what--"

"That woman! You know! The one at the film festival!" Alex squeals, falling back into the couch and taking Jay with him. "She called back and wants to see if we can get the movie into an indie festival!"

Oh. Oooh. 

Now he remembers. He nearly falls off the couch at the very thought of being seen on a silver screen by anybody besides his professor and a handful of inattentive students. His abysmal acting, seen by dozens whose opinions actually matter in the world… Alex might be excited, but Jay’s stomach twists up tight, nausea setting in immediately.

"I can't believe it, I can't," Alex babbles, running his hands down his red face. He must have run all the way to Jay's apartment. "You're the first person I came to tell, no one else knows yet."

Jay can't pinpoint just why that makes his face turn as red as Alex's. He doesn’t think too deeply about it. There’s more pressing matters at hand.

"I'm proud of you," Jay tells him, sincere. He may not be pleased to have his lack of talent potentially showcased in front of all those discerning eyeballs, but he chooses to keep his nerves to himself. "You really deserve it."

Brown eyes gleaming behind his dusty glasses, it looks as though it might be too much for Alex to take in. He hides in his hands, breath shallowing out.

"Christ. This is... this is happening."

Jay winds up tucking the quilt he was using for a much needed nap after a long exam around Alex's shoulders, using it as a shock blanket. He sits for at least an hour rubbing Alex's back, helping him get his breathing back to normal.

By the time Jay has made them both blueberry tea-- the good stuff he spent actual money on-- and they're curled up, eyes fixed on Jay's laptop despite neither of them really watching the second part of some old anime Brian recommended to him, Alex is semi okay again. He was never /not/ okay but sometimes having that much energy coursing through a person can backfire.

Alex must be coming off his high, as he begins to form words again. He starts to lose his manic smile, his hands shake less around his tea. Jay specially chose the mug he cared least for in case Alex dropped it.

"...maybe it's not as good as she thinks it is."

Hugging the blanket to himself, Alex sits back against the couch, eyes affixed to the ceiling.

"It might be a flub. She might have shit taste for all we know."

Not even bothering to pause YouTube, Jay sits back with him, nestling into the safe warm space their combined body heat has created. He takes a good long look at Alex, at the way he worries his nails, picking away loose moons from his fingers.

"She may very well enjoy shitty films."

That jolts Alex into sitting upright, staring fiery daggers across the sofa.

"What the fuck, man?"

That gets a smile out of Jay.

"See? You don't think your movie is shit if you're that bothered by me saying that. I don't think it is either, for the record. But what you think is what really matters."

Alex groans, sinking inside of the cocoon he's made out of the blanket. Jay peers inside the top, pushing it further open with a single finger.

"Hey. Whatever happens, I'm gonna be there to support it."

A pair of exhausted eyes peer up from the cocoon’s inner sanctums. A quiet moment passes before they scrunch up in a smile, and the finger that Jay extended is met with another, poking it away.

“Can we finish this episode?”

Alex’s small voice tickles Jay; it’s like he’s speaking to a child. He obliges and hits the play button.

\--

"...I'll pay you anything if you'll just keep your mouth shut, Tim. This getting out, I won't be able to help him."

"I don't want your money. I'm here to keep him safe. Give me one reason to believe you have good intentions for him."

"Would I be risking my own ass bringing him here, paying his bills, standing by him every day for hours while he's out cold and defenseless, if I was fucking planning to kill him?!"

Jay covers his eyes.

The glow of the fluorescent lights sinks into his skull, where the world's most solid headache stakes out its territory. Maybe his head will burst and he won't have to deal with these idiots arguing over him like he can't hear.

"At this point, Tim, I'd let him."

Whoa. Is that his voice? This mangled croak that might have been stolen from a frog on its death bed?

Opening his stinging eyes, he discovers the two arguing parties standing over his bed. They both fall stony silent, mouths agape. Two pairs of eyes fix onto him, creating a spotlight that he squirms beneath.

"Jay, you're awake, oh god I thought you might--"

Alex falls all over him, too much body heat and movement at once but it leaves as fast as it came. He jerks away, hands to himself, heaving air into his lungs. Jay looks down at himself, searching for the flames that must have burnt Alex.

He just sees his legs. Limp.

"Jay, I want to tell you..."

Tim's voice swims in his ears. He can't look away from his legs. They don't feel right.

"What happened, back in the school, I should've been there to stop it, I..."

"What's wrong with me?"

The attention that was fixed entirely upon him washes away in an instant, and suddenly Tim and Alex can't make eye contact with Jay. If he could leap out of bed and give them both a good shake...

"Someone. Just say it. You know what's wrong, I can tell."

The ground must be fucking fascinating if they insist on looking at it like that. If only he could move his head, his neck, his body, since when was he strapped down?

"Jay. You gotta promise not to be angry."

"I'm going to be angry if you don't tell me!" Jay shouts, ripping his dry throat. Coughing, he pushes his body into sitting up so he can hug himself, keep his organs from being rattled out, but his legs still. Won't. Fucking. Move.

He knew what happened, the memory left an imprint. A self from a past day, week, month, however long he was gone, he put it there. That Jay ran off with the memory the moment he awoke, selfish piece of shit. 

Heat pricks his eyes. The last time his heart beat this hard in fear, he was running down a hallway, a screaming gunshot blowing out his hearing. Who was it, who held the gun...?

"Hang on. I'll get the doctor. She needs to know you're awake."

"Alex, get back here! Alex!"

Jay's voice gives up, and he's left with a useless hiss that nobody could possibly hear from that far down the hallway.

He doesn't need a doctor's opinion to know what's wrong. It's not a matter of what his legs feel like. It's that he can't feel them, period.

Tim sticks to his side, face dark and long. Without his voice, Jay can't ask how long he's been here, but it couldn't have been a short period of time.

Hesitant hands approach Jay. He snatches them before Tim can change his mind, and he holds them to his chest, breathing gone shallow and wet.

Tim doesn't pull away, even if he can't bring himself to actually look at Jay as he sobs.

\--

"Sir? Do you need help?"

Jay jolts at the sound of another voice, turning his head, heart somewhere in his throat. Of course it's just an employee, someone who works on the floor of this department store.

Still, Jay tilts his head down, refusing to look this stranger in the eye.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? You got a lot of stuff there," they point out, nodding to the pile of clothes Jay has draped over his lap and chair. They only leave him alone when he forces a smile for them; yes, he's perfectly fine, let him be. If he needs help, he'll fucking ask. It's not like he hasn't been rolling around in a chair for over three months now, he's kind of got the hang of it.

Well, he's still learning. But he doesn't want to learn alongside a stranger who can't keep his hands to himself. Jay hasn't forgotten the first time he tried to go shopping on his own and that strange woman insisted on patting his head after grabbing a can of beans off the shelf for him.

It's a little bit hilarious to him, which is to say, not at all. People went out of their way to avoid being near his tired eyed trudging ass on the street before, now they're either too helpful or they get in his face to find out if he really can't leave his chair.

Whatever. He's actually out of the house alone and Alex won't be around all day and he wants to get home to enjoy the quiet for a while.

The store is huge and wide, perfect for him. This selection isn't the sort of clothing Alex might wear, but he's given up on trying to make him put on designer jeans and ties. At last, Jay is free to wear the sweatpants and big jackets he's used to. Easy to get in and out of, comfy, warm when he gets cold so easily at night...

Inching along, he makes for the checkout counter at the front of the store, pleased to see an empty line. Being unemployed, he can leave the house any fucking time he likes and avoid the waiting around and the crowds and the occasional "wait, aren't you...?" from the ladies reading those rumor rags. It's for the best.

("Listen. People who see us together this much are going to make up things. They're gonna ask questions."

"What's your point? I don't care what they think anymore."

"You will once you start seeing articles about us online."

"Alex, get to the point."

"...do I have your permission to say that you're my boyfriend when people ask why we're always together?"

"What?"

"It's better than the truth. You've gotta admit that."

"But wouldn't that get you more flak?"

"Are you kidding? Southern boys in love? New York is gonna eat that up."

"Let me think about it.")

"You finished up, sir?"

Jay pastes on a smile again and nods, taking all the soft sweaters and pants off of himself and placing them on the counter. He must have ten different outfits there. He justifies it by reminding himself that his old outfits, back from when he was on the run, are more holes than fabric now, and he isn't going to wear any more of Alex's ill-fitting clothing.

"How will you be paying?" the young cashier asks, eyeing the mountain of clothes warily. Jay holds back a weary sigh before digging in his pockets for a card that Alex gave him at the beginning of the month for groceries, full of money that could hold him over for three months.

The cashier doesn't say anything, running the card through and looking openly surprised when it doesn't decline. Letting it roll off his back, Jay pretends to be busy putting his card away while they pack the large order into two huge plastic bags.

Thanking them, Jay takes the bags and places them on either side of his hips, effectively pinning them in place against the sides of his chair. No one will be snatching them away from him without getting noticed. Nodding in goodbye to the cashier (and pointedly avoiding eye contact when he passes the one he met earlier in the aisles), he lets himself back outside.

It's a quiet cloudy day. November has brought a wet bite to the air that reminds Jay of late winter in Alabama. If it's this cold now, a New York winter will surely break him.

Alex isn't always around to keep him warm either. His first movie to come out since he reappeared in the public eye is quickly reaching completion and the people with busy phones and sunglasses are always around these days.

They don't pay Jay much mind. At times, they might tell Alex to bring him along, have Jay act as a sympathetic prop while Alex gives an interview. All Jay would have to do is hold his hand and be a good boyfriend.

Alex tears them the fuck apart when they suggest such things. Only the newer ones even think to recommend that anymore.

(They did try, once-- not at Alex's insistence, but Jay's.

"We wanna make sure they all think we're boyfriends, right?" Jay asked, stopping Alex from exploding at the young PR boy. "You just came out with it and all. We might as well put on a good show."

And, truth be told, Jay had been bored. One can only sit online in their room for so long before they lose their fucking mind.

Alex agreed, although Jay never sees that one agent around anymore.)

At least he’s good at keeping quiet and smiling and giving Alex huge adoring eyes while gentle fingers rub patterns into his cold hands.

He had a lot of practice in school with him.

The house isn’t too far off. It takes him about a half hour to get from there to this mall. Movies sure built up New York for Jay, made it into this gleaming paradise of steel and electricity running through the sidewalks. 

But the place that he and Alex settled into is hardly worth plastering onto a silver screen. When his first film took off at the festival, he ended up buying a home in New York that he had every intention of moving into. Apparently he picked this one because it would keep him from being hounded by fans-- Jay rolled his eyes upon hearing that, though even with this doubled fame, he has to admit it’s worked. No weird phone calls or late night doorbell ringing whatsoever, no paparazzi hounding him about where he’d gone during all that time away.

(The cover story is somewhat flaky. They went down to a village in Russia, lived a life without electronics and luxuries for a while. Helped those that needed help. Recorded any stories they came up with. And so, Alex was inspired to create his new film-- and Jay still has no idea what it’s about. Honestly, he doesn’t give a shit, because he can see how much Alex gives a shit: none, absolutely fucking none, he just needs the paycheck to live.)

It’s lonely but familiar as a result. He can pretend he’s still home, except not home, which is good because home is the last place he can ever be now. Keeping off of all the big social media sites has ensured that his family cannot track him down, even as he begins appearing on television alongside Alex. Probably for the best even without the whole ‘I literally am trying to protect you from a monster’ thing; he remembers what his mother would say about faggots.

Sequestered away from the public, quiet, nature creeping in on the edges, this place is a good place to hide.

The problems arise when he has to pass through the path leading to the house, though.

Alex must be some kind of sick fuck not to move them somewhere else but he says he wants to keep from making any big purchases until he’s seen how the new film does. Fair, Jay will admit that.

But to have this many trees dotting the dirt path up to the house, leaves covering up the sky, leaving all who dwell below in shadow, it’s absurd. It’s unnecessary.

It’s terrifying.

Jay lingers outside the trees, listening to cars rumble by, unaware of him and of the home tucked away inside. He stares, fighting back nausea and wishing he’d let himself be driven here after all. In the car, he could hide his face in the seats, in his hands, no worries.

On his own, he has to pass through, fully alert, fully aware that he is surrounded.

He takes on the challenge as he always does: getting it over with, brutal and fast, akin to ripping off the bloody band-aid. Hands on his wheels, he shoves forward, and the light drowns away, choked out by shadow and nothingness.

His heart immediately kicks up in speed. He ignores it, keeps his blurring vision fixed onto a point straight ahead, where he sees the plain white unassuming paint of the house peeking through. There’s nothing stopping him, he isn’t being hounded by a masked creature that wishes him ill intent, long fingers keep to themselves and eyeless gazes do not burn through into his skin.

Still, he moves, faster and faster, wheels skidding and catching on pebbles. His breath goes ragged, and he has to fight past the pain piercing through into his lungs. It’s getting closer, home, home, free, he’s free, he shouldn’t be so scared but--

The shadows break. He’s surrounded by freshly trimmed hedges. The red roof gleams bright beneath the sun, cheery in the face of his pounding heart. There aren’t any steps to climb, inside or out, and he can make his way to safety without further hindering beyond his own stupid clumsy hands. 

Time seems to blink away from him for a moment, and when he opens his eyes next, he’s in the bedroom. Simple, small, but big enough for two, nothing like the hotel rooms he came to know. Covers as red as the roof greet him, beckoning him into their safe warmth.

The clothes can wait. They've made it to the bedroom, that's what matters.

He can hide. He can keep away from the outside.

Jay crawls from his chair, launching himself from the seat into the bed. He gets halfway there, his torso on the mattress, where he tugs himself fully up to where he can lay on his side.

This way, he can watch the single window to his left. Make sure the heavy white curtains never inch aside, no hands come creeping from the glass and ignore its solidity to come and get him.

What can he do but hide? But if he doesn't watch, he won't know what's coming, and he won't be able to prepare, to-- do something, there must be something he can do. He just doesn't know it yet, he needs the adrenaline inside him, boosting his brain.

The house settles around him. Every creak, every faint whine of the hinges, he catches them, and he dissects them to the bone. What was that? Was it a foot step? A door opening, permitting those that he is hiding from inside?

Jay was just outside. He traveled easily, rolling down the sidewalk and never casting those that passed him a second glance. Nothing stood out, he didn't jump or flinch away from their sudden movements. Dozens of unpredictable bodies, and Jay never felt the urge to curl up in defense.

He wishes he understood.

Before, when he carried a camera everywhere and lived out of his car, picking numbers apart and isolating himself to protect others, he understood nothing. But the mysteries were all around him, they were printed onto the tapes and disks and in the coding of websites. The trees concealed their secrets from him, and he was afraid then too-- but he didn't spend every moment of his life hiding from them.

Now he's face down in his bed, breathing hard, nails scraping the sheets as he curls his blanched fists. If he hadn't done this every day for the past month, he might have thought he was having a heart attack.

(Sheets wrapping around his legs, tangling him up, pinning him to the mattress. He claws at the air, eyes bulging at the sight of something that can't be there but he just saw it, it was fucking there, long and thin and piercing him through the heart with its unearthly stare.

"Go away," he begs to nothing, sputtering the words until they're an incomprehensible stream of noise even to his own ears. "You're not real, you're not real, go away!"

His voice raises, like he's fighting to hear it over his pounding heart. Nausea takes over fast, twisting him around so he can lean his head off of the bed-- he heaves.

"Not again."

Alex's voice grounds Jay, anchoring him back into real life. He tastes bile, but he knows he didn't have dinner, couldn't stand the thought of Alex's friends watching him roll to the kitchen. If he needed help reaching something, they would be given a show he was unwilling to be a part of.

"Sorry," Jay utters, realizing he's made a mess. The carpet still needs to be torn up and taken out, less catch for the wheels and less energy put toward cleanup.

Alex stumbles into the room, rubbing his eyes. Without his glasses, he's so much younger, though at the same time the dark lines that come of late nights spent over a keyboard are that much more obvious. Seeing them, Jay ducks his head under his pillows, hiding from the guilt.

"This is the second time this week, Jay," Alex sighs. He drops to his knees, holding a container of wet cloths and looking after the mess with them. Again, Jay's stomach twists again, threatening to push out whatever is left in there-- he must've brought the cloths knowing exactly what was happening. 

"I'm starting to think that you might need a therapist."

Jay groans and pulls the pillow tighter to his head.

"No. What do I tell them? I'm paralyzed /and/ crazy? They'll put me in a hospital."

Alex doesn't say anything to that. Jay only knows he hasn't left the room because the floor is creaking under him.

"You can't be okay with this, dealing with...whatever this is every night. I'm not, I need sleep too."

Jay desperately wants Alex to stop talking.

"It doesn't matter. Just buy ear plugs. You'll be fine."

Alex rises from the ground, fixing him with an icy gaze that Jay knows well. He shivers under the weight of it.

"And where does that leave you?"

"It doesn't matter," Jay repeats himself, tugging the covers so that they shield his whole body from view. "Go back to sleep."

The cold air conditioned room stands still for a moment. Alex's eyes burn into his back, never letting him forget that he's there with him.

The bed sinks with no warning, and Jay finds himself being shoved over. He gasps, senses still sharp and spiked by adrenaline, and he tries to strike out-- Alex is stronger than him, though, and it isn't any contest. Alex gets his way, and he gets to lay there beside Jay, giving off an uncomfortable amount of body heat.

"You need somebody here to keep an eye on you."

At least that explains what exactly he's doing, Alex doesn't like being near Jay if he can help it.

Not out of disgust, though. Jay can see him squirming from guilt at frightening Jay even a little bit.

He's starting to get better about not assuming the worst out of every solitary move Alex makes. But jumping in bed without any warning?

"Couldn't you do it from like. Not near me."

Jay doesn't bother to argue that someone should be watching him. He knows he'll lose when he's this tired.

Alex doesn’t bother replying anyway, there’s no point when he already has his way by the sole fact that he is stronger. He sits still, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his own chest, his buttoned up shirt in danger of wrinkling. 

He’s so quiet, Jay could roll over and pretend he isn’t even there. 

That’s the only reason he’s able to force sleep upon his eyelids. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

He seems to be reassuring himself a lot lately.)

The wardrobe stands open from this morning.

Jay remembers watching Alex fighting it open, cursing to himself. They avoid each other as much as possible in the mornings, preferring to work on their own. Alex has a schedule that demands he get up early anyway, and he doesn’t like to invite others into the mess when he still has to ingest about two gallons of coffee.

The doors on the wardrobe stick a little bit but it’s a perfectly adequate wardrobe otherwise. It’s huge. Plenty of long coats for him to cover up behind. The door can open, and let him peer outside for anything that might happen to be able to look back.

His arms are stronger now, stronger than they ever have been, able to carry him across the bedsheets. He claws his way along the mattress, grabbing hunks of it in his fists. Dragging all the way down to the floor, his feet thump hard against the wooden ground once he frees himself of the bed’s surly bonds. He winces at the sound but quickly shrugs it off, intent on making it to the wardrobe. 

Reaching up, he tugs at the door handle, pushing it so that it may permit a human sized body inside. Palms firmly planted on the floor, he pushes and shoves himself forward. It takes a few tries but soon he’s nestled inside, and all but immediately he can breathe again.

It’s when the door clicks shut that his senses return to him, and he realizes his mistake.

\--

Jay remembers the days where Alex told himself and anyone who would listen-- he'd never sell out.

Never any merchandise, no corporate deals, no giving himself up to the Man.

And here Jay sits, reaching down to slap beer bottles out of his chair's path. He recognizes them from the boxes kept in the basement, given to them by a company that premised to endorse Alex's movie if he endorsed them. Jay remembers the postman coming to sign off the ten, twenty, whatever amount of boxes to Alex, how excited he was to realize who he was dealing with.

Meanwhile, Jay was just wondering how'd they'd ever need this much beer like, ever.

And turns out Alex found the perfect method to get rid of it all in one fell swoop: a party.

Alex does not have nearly enough friends to justify a party. He must have invited his cast and crew and let them bring over a friend. And if the mess in the yard is anything to go by, those friends brought a friend.

Jay tried to stay away. He'd much rather hide out at a library or even sit out in the car until the party is over. Nobody staring at him there, no one trying to shake answers to way too private questions from him.

("So Alex and you... do you...?"

"This conversation is over."

"I didn't even ask you a question!"

"I know what you're about to ask, don't even."

"You're being way too sensitive!")

Dodging questions is way harder when you have to rely on a pair of wheels. Can't exactly just turn and walk away, there's effort and time put into turning his whole setup from the perpetrator.

There comes a point where he needs to go back to the house, though, like when he needs to fucking sleep and the beds are probably all taken up by people Jay has never met and the living room will be even more of a fucking mess, goddamn.

The front door is unlocked, open to any and all criminals that might want to get a peek at Alex's valuables. Jay makes sure to remedy that before he turns to face the chaos left behind by the party-- the party that's still going.

Not as many people as Jay expected, but more than he can deal with. Several pairs of eyes turn and catch his arrival, though most of the party goers are too caught up in each other to notice him. Alex has his music blasting over the best quality speakers that he only breaks out for brainstorming and for parties.

Any gossip that may possibly start up because of him goes unheard over the droning of this... Music, if it can be called that. That's one thing Alex never gave up, and Jay kind of wishes he would.

Jay ignores it in favor of heading for the bedrooms, prepared to see bare asses and general panicked nudity. He tries for his room first, under the reasoning that Alex would never allow anybody to go fuck in their shared bedroom.

And yet, when he pushes the door open, he hears it before he sees it-- two voices, moaning, clothing shifting, rustling.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Jay rolls in, giving very little of a shit. He'll rip the sheets off and sleep on the bare mattress, he doesn't give a shit.

"Get out, I wanna sleep. Go fuck in the hallway, I don't care- ..."

Alex's head emerges from under the blankets.

Jay stares, stuck. His brain tries to catch up with what his eyes see but he's lagging behind. It's worse once the second head pops up beside Alex, long blonde hair standing up from being mussed up by the pillows and Alex's hands.

"Oh... oh boy, oh no. You said your boyfriend wasn't gonna come back for a while."

Alex freezes and looks between her and Jay, opens his mouth and closes it like a gasping fish.

Jay realizes he should be freaking out. He should behave like a jaded boyfriend. Betrayed. Hurt. And he wants to act it for Alex's sake, but then he'd lose his integrity, get in trouble with the papers for cheating, right? But then, this isn't real, this...

"Excuse me."

Jay backs into the hallway, turning the chair and skidding against the wooden floors. Any other time, Alex might yell at him for scuffing the grounds, but he can go fuck himself, he's got worse troubles on his plate.

And it's all his fault.

"Jay! Jay, come on, no, no, wait!"

"Really? You've got a hot girl underneath you and you're chasing after your twiggy crippled shut in pet?"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Jay can hear him scrambling from the bedroom, trying to wiggle into the clothing he managed to take off before Jay arrived. That doesn't slow him down at all. If anything, he goes that much faster, rolling down the hall and back toward the front door. His wheels catch over glass bottles, nearly sending him toppling to the floor. The ruckus it creates attracts every single eye in the living room this time, and someone even comes forward claiming they want to help but Jay isn't having any of it.

He's out the door before anybody can reach him, making his way down the path. Jay's heart is somewhere in his throat, painful and throbbing.

His eyes are stinging. He doesn't remember when he began crying but he is, he's sitting outside his own home crying because he was fucking cheated on by his fake boyfriend.

He doesn't know when it happened.

Maybe his gentle hands, guiding Jay by the back, keeping up with his faster wheels just to stay beside him. The shared bed, forced to share air and skin and things nobody has shared with them for years. Listening ears, a mutual trauma, some fucked up thing about having his life in the hands of somebody that tried to take it away.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know. I dunno if I can ever feel that way again."

"Jay, hang on! Get back here!"

Alex appears, only in sock feet, sneakers forgotten back in the bedroom along with that girl. Perfect, he can run over his goddamn feet and crunch them beneath his wheels. That wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough for what Jay wants to do, but it would be a step.

"What do you want?" Jay mopes. He tells himself that he's stopping because his arms are tired, nothing to do with Alex finally appearing behind him. "I thought you were busy."

"Oh, shut up and listen, will you--"

"Um, what is there to listen to, Alex? You went and fucked someone, that's all there is to it."

"I didn't even get past kissing, would you quit it?" Alex huffs, snatching the handles on the back of the chair. He hangs on even as Jay twists about, trying to shake him off. "I was drunk, so was she, and she looked like... it doesn't even matter. It was stupid."

No. No, no, no, he isn't getting out of this.

"You've been drunk before and you've never fucked up this badly, Alex."

That freezes him to the spot. Good. Let him feel the ice that seized Jay upon entering that bedroom. He jerks the chair out of Alex's grip and turns it sideways, so that he can give Alex his attention but still has the option to turn tail if he so chooses.

"You have no idea, do you? Just how irresponsible you were there? How you wrap me up in your life like this and then go and put it all at risk, when I've not questioned any of this at all? When I've let you make it so I can never live without you?"

Hot guilt seeps into Alex's face. He stands away from Jay, his breathing still haggard from chasing him down and growing more still.

"Jay, I'm, I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do when this all started, it just seemed right. Look, I'll pay her off, I'll..."

They both pause as they catch each other's eyes, both of them knowing how that leaves too much to chance, but Jay has to say it. He's tired of keeping his head down.

"You don't know if that will work, Alex. You can't get out of everything with your money. Didn't you figure that out with Tim?"

Alex can't look at him. It burns to even pass his gaze over Alex.

"We haven't seen Tim for over a year now. He might be dead for all we know. But he might just decide to come back and destroy you. And sometimes I want to let that happen, you know."

That gets Alex to look up at him, actual pain reflected in those tired eyes, and Jay can't bring himself to care. Eye for an eye, heart for a heart.

"I want to let that happen, and the only thing that keeps me from that is that we're tied together. I don't know if you meant to do that on purpose, and you know, I doubt you did, you were just trying to help. But it's still shitty, Alex!"

Jay doesn't know when he began shouting. It feels wrong on his throat. When did he remember how to do that, to fight, to raise his voice?

"The least you could do is remain consistent, take responsibility, and pretend that you can't put your dick anywhere else but the fucking boyfriend you put in a goddamn chair!"

"I'm sorry--"

"I know you are! But that's not what's pissing me off, honestly!" Jay screams him down. He's stopped in front of Alex, come closer at some point between the loss of his damn mind and Alex apologizing. "It's adding to it, that's for sure! But no, fucking no, I'm pissed off because I guess I'm suffering from some bizarre case of Stockholm syndrome! I don't know when that began to happen, all I know is that I became aware of it the moment I saw you sucking on that girl's face, and I'm not one bit happy about it!"

He might have been running a marathon, that's how hard he's breathing. A jagged tear sits at the bottom of his throat, tasting bloody and raw.

He's got his fist clasped around Alex's shirt, tugging it so hard that the fabric is straining. A button is already falling off, joining the mess of shattered glass on the ground.

Looking down, Jay can see red seeping out into the white of Alex's socks.

"...Jay, what are you saying?"

His voice is so small. He can't look at him.

Jay turns away. He takes extra care not to run over Alex's foot.

"It doesn't matter. You just. Keep it in your pants. I can't believe we had to have this conversation."

"No, Jay, you're gonna tell me what you mean right now if we're going to be talking about our fucked up relationship so honestly tonight."

"What's it matter to you? Nothing is gonna come of it," Jay hisses, rolling down the path until he's past the gate. Alex continues to follow, persistent, patient, and fucking annoying. "You don't care. You just keep me here so you don't get in trouble."

"You know that's not true! I wouldn't be listening to you right now if I didn't care!"

"Leave me alone, Alex!"

There are hands on his chair again, and Jay is greatly considering backing up into Alex until his arms come from behind and they wrap around his neck. An old instinct that had gone dormant rears back, prepared to save Jay from strangling, but the arms around him are embracing him.

"Alex. Please."

"Jay. If you have feelings for me, I can... I can't let anyone else into my life the way I can with you. There's nobody else who knows the full truth. Nobody else can. It's not like it would be difficult to let myself be closer to you. With her, it was just a fluke, I wanted to be close to someone. It was stupid when you've been here all along."

"...don't give me your pity."

The arms securing Jay in place loosen some, going limp against his chest. It’s taking too many ounces of Jay’s will to keep from touching them, hugging them close, finding the security he desperately wants. But to do that would be accepting Alex’s pity offer and he is done with taking pity from anybody. No more pity. Especially from him.

“Jay. It’s not pity.”

“Yeah, ok,” Jay spits. He swats away Alex’s hands at last, inching out of his reach. Alex’s gaze burns into his back, following him out onto the trail-- where he pauses, and remains still. The trees are darker and taller at night. Turning back isn’t an option but going through the trees is even less so. He peeks back at Alex, much as he’d like not to. “Move. I’m going back to the house and I’m using one of the guest rooms. Don’t want any sticky stuff on the fucking sheets.”

“I said it was just kissing! Jesus,” Alex huffs, planting his feet firmly in place. Even through the dark, Jay can see he’s trembling. He opens his mouth to tell Alex to fuck off, only to be interrupted by the man’s frantic hushed babbling. Alex’s head lowers into his hands, fingers curling and tugging at his hair. “It’s not pity. I-I’m terrified of the idea of trying that with you for so many reasons, most of them being that, yeah, I nearly fucking murdered you, and now I am practically what keeps you alive. 

“But on top of that is that I… don’t know if I can even feel that way about anyone anymore? Ever since Amy went-- I don’t-- It’s hard to even think about it, I don’t want to feel it anymore. It’s like a mental block, as soon as I think about touching you or when we hold hands for interviews, my brain just shuts down. I don’t want this, I-- I think I don’t?

“And I do, too, I don’t, but then I do. You’re close to me,” Alex says slowly. His voice grows quieter, lower, ever shakier. Jay cannot move. Cannot bear to meet his eyes. “I think I want to be with you. But I don’t want to hurt you if this doesn’t work because it turns out I can’t give you what you want. I really, really don’t want to hurt you a second time, Jay. I don’t. I care about you, in… that way, or not that way, I do. I really do.”

Their world is quiet all but for the vague thumping off the bass inside Alex’s home. Neither man moves, as if afraid one word or twitch might shatter the delicate air between them. Jay has much he would want to say, but knowing his luck, he’d say the wrong thing and they wouldn’t be able to… what? What do they do? Where do they go from here?

“Do you want to be with me, Jay? Do you want to risk that?”

He’s got everything and yet nothing to lose. If this were to end badly, what then? They go their separate ways and go mad from isolation? Jay starves, Alex continues into stardom, and neither see the other again? 

And yet if he were to leave behind this life, Jay doesn’t know what he’d be losing. Just his life. A life that Alex finds value in protecting, for some reason. Love, he makes it sound like love instead of guilt-- even though he isn’t even certain he can love anymore.

Would Jay be able to handle it if Alex found he couldn’t do it?

He doesn’t know.

What he does know is Alex is still soft in the face, like he was when they were in school together. His cheeks are round and they lend an absurd amount of youth to him. When the glasses come off so he can wipe his eyes, he might as well still be school age.

Jay sees the possibility of being with that boy again.

He closes the distance between them, hands coming up to beckon Alex forth. Of course he eyes him with mistrust, he was speaking so aggressively and now he expects an embrace. Still, Alex nears him, coming to his side so he may easily wrap his arms around Jay’s shoulders.

This time, Jay doesn’t jump away. His voice feels misplaced.

“Would you want to try? For me?”

The kiss that meets his lips says yes.]

\--

It’s dark in here. 

He can’t see further than his own fingertips, and even then his vision blurs. How long has it been since he last ate? Since he drank anything? It can’t have been that long, but his numbing brain is prone to saying otherwise.

It’s impossible for him to run out of oxygen when there are cracks in the wardrobe doors. Yet every breath Jay takes feels like his last, or that’s what his brain has convinced him of. There isn’t anything he can do, nothing he can do to free himself of this mental loop-- I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I have to be dying.

His stupid voice won’t fucking work, he opens his mouth wide and he shoves all the air inside his tight lungs up and out-- and nothing. Jay tries to scream, again and again, until his throat closes up and he gasps as a dying fish would.

How long has he been here? What little light that came through the crack in the door is fading away, preventing him from checking his watch for the time. He wouldn’t be able to judge how many hours had passed anyway-- he can’t remember when he got home. But it surely must be hours and hours and /hours/. Alex might not even come home tonight, sometimes he stays at hotels overnight.

That possibility stabs Jay through the chest. He forgets to breathe, sits in total silence for a moment before-- something he cannot name, a tightly wound gear-- he bursts, his fists beating wildly against the door. 

“…hello? Jay?”

Alex’s voice calls out from far away, beyond the bedroom. He was too far away for Jay to hear him open the front door; Alex might have been home for ages now and Jay wouldn’t have known. He slams open palms upon the sturdy wood, determined to get him upstairs. 

Thudding announces Alex’s arrival to the second floor. His footsteps fade under the rapidfire sound of Jay’s hands-- he doesn’t stop for a second, not until the door swings open and Alex stands, clutching something sharp, shiny, silver. 

A serrated knife that Jay has seen him hold before while they made lunch together, he’s used it before himself while cutting up bread, the good stuff from the downtown bakery instead of plain white from the store.

Yet his brain catches wind of a sharp object in Alex’s hand, and it runs off, leaving Jay to drown in his own panic. 

“Jay, how’d you get in here?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Alex’s face, once tense, sinks in despair. He glances down at his own hand and quickly realizes his mistake-- he puts down the knife, laying it flat on the floor. Taking a step back, he leaves room for Jay to step back out into the open.

"Jay, it's okay."

The adrenaline coursing through Jay’s veins brakes in the middle of the road, and time freezes for him. He waits to be struck down by a rushing car, but it never comes. Jay stares, rakes his eyes up and down Alex’s form.

He stands with his hands apart, palms up, showing no ill intention.

Alex never treats him like he's stupid for this. He never acts like he's unreasonable or causing him any trouble.

It's the only time where Jay is absolutely certain that his gentleness isn't fueled by guilt.

(They wake together, out of breath, out of minds.

Moonlight spills over their bodies, though they cannot see with it alone. Jay sees Alex with his hands, and Alex breaks through the dark to grab those wandering hands.

"It happened again."

Whatever 'it' is. That could be any number of its.

Alex never breaking out of the trance the creature put him under. Becoming a puppet. A shell. No more humanity, no more Alex.

The bullet hitting a little higher, closer to a most necessary organ. Jay never opening his eyes in the hospital-- or in that school, laying on the floor, breathing hard, until he's all out of breath.

They're free, they're where they are now, safe, until somebody looks out the window and examines the shadows too closely, too curious, spurning on the awakening of a creature that lie dormant, a disease in remission surging back to the surface--

Jay has seen it all, and Alex has, too.

Neither of them talk about it anymore. They just inch across the bed, come closer, and wrap around each other until they can't ignore the feeling of veins pulsing rapidly, the heat of a nervous heart, the touch of reality.

The touch of now.)

A hand reaches for him. Jay brushes away the vision of a gun sat within it, loaded up with bullets meant just for him.

He sees the man that took him in, that could have abandoned him when just glancing his way pained the two of them.

He sees what he has now-- what could've been worse, what could've been better, but he knows this is where he is and that Alex, this Alex, is the one he has. This Alex loves him, even if neither of them have the strength to say so. 

Not right now, anyway. Maybe in the future. Maybe tomorrow, maybe twenty years from this very evening.

Jay takes the hand that is offered to him, and he lets Alex pull him out of the wardrobe, past the dusty sweaters and jeans he cannot wriggle into anymore. He's gathered into a safe embrace, knows he won't be dropped.

It isn't often that Jay lets Alex carry him. It's embarrassing most of the time, he's not a baby. This isn't for the sake of getting him from point A to point B though.

Jay has to hide his hot face in Alex's shoulder when he thinks about what this truly is.

Too scary to confront now, but too good to ignore it.

They're in the bathroom when Jay lifts his head again. The bright white marble hurts his eyes, and he has to close them when he's placed down on the bathtub edge. The shower is right there, his chair sitting in wait for him, but Alex has the bath faucet turned and he's running it hot, the steam coming up to engulf his vision in fog.

Jay watches Alex pull his socks off for him, along with the rest of his lower garments. They never look at each other when the other is naked, though they're often in close proximity in the morning while getting dressed.

This time Alex looks straight at him and he isn't really shying away. Jay chooses to alternate between him and the rising tub water. It’s hard to look at him for very long before it gets to be too much contact too soon.

"This okay?"

Alex stops halfway through tugging the last roll of his pants off. Good timing in realizing that Jay might not actually be okay with this. He'll learn though. He can learn to be a better person-- Jay knows that first-hand.

He nods, reaching to pull off his own shirt to show that he isn't just saying that. Alex's face is quickly growing red, though Jay can't pinpoint whether the heat of the room is getting to him or if he’s genuinely flustered from handling Jay.

He can't decide which he prefers.

"Is it okay if I join you?"

That part, Jay didn't expect that. Maybe stand by and make sure Jay doesn't attempt to drown himself but actually sit with him?

He tries to utter an "I guess", something along those lines, but he can't get his voice to cooperate. Instead, he nods again, not really feeling the whole "explain my many complicated feelings while I'm coming back from a breakdown" shtick.

Once Jay is bare before him, Alex takes his time in helping the man lower into the tub. It's hotter than he'd like but that'll change soon, surely. This isn't the first bath Jay has taken in here, but it's the first one he's had because he needed comfort.

Alex strips quickly, like he's more embarrassed at the thought of getting caught mid undress as opposed to being totally nude. The bathwater rises higher once he joins Jay there, somewhat sitting on Jay's lap, though he can only see him doing it, not feel it. It sets his insides stirring nonetheless.

"Is this okay?" Alex asks again.

There's plenty of room for Alex to stretch out and let Jay have his whole own side of the tub. And yet.

Jay grabs his wrists and makes certain that he is as close as he possibly can be without it turning into an accidentally lewd act. When he's this close, Jay can feel him, and he's okay again. He isn’t trapped. 

Alex stares, knees pressed to Jay's sides, chest brushing his with each uneven breath they take.

Jay doesn't know who kisses who.

He just knows that Alex's hands weave so nicely through his unwashed hair, not caring that he's messy and disheveled, he's here and he's going to make sure he stays here.

(If Alex can give him a chance, then Jay can do the same for him.)

By the time that Jay is taken out of the tub, his hands are utterly pruned beyond recognition. 

A warm towel beats away the water from his skin, until he’s dry and ready to be carried again. Alex helps him redress, pulling Alex’s larger shirt on for comfort. The two return to the bedroom, Jay’s arms looped around Alex’s neck, and he’s in bed before he can ask if they can maybe think about bedtime soon. It’s been a long day.

Alex doesn’t bother dressing. He slides in beside Jay, pausing at his side and eyeing him with reservation. It isn’t long before he decides to sling an arm around Jay’s body, and his breath becomes deep and even before long.

The lights might be off, and Jay’s heart may have settled-- but his brain has not.

Their neon clock blinks to two AM when he sits up and looks down at his present, his past, his future. He looks down at himself, at Alex, at what he will be for the rest of his life.

Jay sighs. Calm.

He sits a moment longer, watching Alex, seeing the new man, the man that has been with him for months now but he refused to let himself see him.

His shoulders fold in, blocking out potential onlookers and attackers. He keeps the hand that's wriggled over Jay's shoulder in a fist. The man sleeps prepared for battle. If Jay lifted his pillow, would he finds a knife? Perhaps a new pistol, one that's never been fired?

Jay doesn't dare find out. His perception is still shaky. Still dares to slip out from under him and try to make him believe no time has passed, he's still standing looking into the lifeless eyes of somebody who wanted to see him dead.

Purging something like that from his mind, it would take surely years of therapy that he cannot face, lest he spread something that's finally been contained.

He can only think of one way, and it's sitting waiting for him inside of a glowing laptop screen.

Struggling himself into sitting fully upright, he bends over the side of the bed and picks the device up off the floor, where he had been writing the night before.

Opening the lid, it sparks to life, showing a blank word document. Just as expected, honestly.

This time, there's no hesitation when he lets the words pour out from his fingers.

"I once begged my friend not to throw away the tapes of his old shitty movie, begged him to give them to me."

Nobody would ever see this.


End file.
